


Midnight Son

by ang3lba3



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Arizona Trashbag Bella Swan, Bisexual Bella Swan, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Magic Roy Mustang, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Vampire Edward Elric, Worldbuilding, i wouldnt call what i do to anyone character bashing but theyre largely dumb chaotic teens okie, nearly everyones 420 percent more queer, taking some fresh as hell liberties with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24174007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3
Summary: So Bella Swan isn’t the most interesting thing in Forks her first day. That’s fine. That’s whatever.From the sounds of it, there’s a lot more to do in this town than she’d thought. She can cultivate a kingdom of admirers later."also there's a secret vampire science moon base and Winry & Jesus live there, it's of tangential importance at best but don't you wanna know more now."- the author trying to pitch this on discord
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang, background Billy Black/Charlie Swan
Comments: 95
Kudos: 245





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't decided on most of the ships yet, and a huge amount of people are going to be in this - so I'll add them a chapter at a time! I most likely won't tag for all background ships. You should expect canon het Twilight ships for all the Twilight vampires, though. 
> 
> This is tagged 'chose not to warn' because I don't want to signal the wrong thing by using the Underage tag and the Roy/Ed tag. Bella & her classmates, as well as some of the Cullens, are under 18. You should not expect explicit rape or major character death in this story, although there may be graphic depictions of violence later. 
> 
> The rating may increase to E for sexually explicit content, I'll give a heads up when/if it does!

“I heard that he drives a _monster truck,_ ” a girl with brown hair says.

“You’re making that up, Jessica,” says another girl with brown hair.

Bella had worried about standing out on her first day in her new school, which is why in a fit of social anxiety brought on by a critical lack of weed she’d dyed away her frosted tips with Garnier Nutrisse Medium Ash Brown 51 (Cool Tea). And she wasn’t standing out. Which was— good. It was good that she wasn’t standing out, and she wouldn’t tell anyone all the Area 51 jokes she’d been thinking of about her hair. That’s what she wanted, when she moved here. Not to stand out. Not to cause problems. Not to talk about aliens for half an hour at the slightest prompting.

And so she’s sitting in her first hour English, and she’s not standing out, and in front of her are two girls babbling about some motherfucker who moved here last week and stole her spotlight.

“Angela, he has an 8 pack. I will swear on anything you want, he has an 8 pack,” Jessica continues. “His hair is like _spun gold._ He dropped out of school to model in Italy and he has this proprietary body glitter that he won’t share with anyone but his brother. He burned his own house down to keep anyone from getting the formula in Las Vegas. I heard that he’s _independently_ wealthy and-”

“And single?” Bella says, a touch drier than she meant to, too obviously mocking. Shit. Dial it back. “Sounds too good to be true. Like, what is he, an alien?”

_Ask me about aliens,_ Bella thinks very hard at the back of Jessica’s head.

Jessica twists in her chair to look at Bella. She has a perky face, like if pumpkin spice with two espresso shots was a human teenager. Maybe she can hook Bella up with some Adderall. She absolutely has the look of someone either on too much Adderall or desperately in need of some.

(Not that Bella is taking Adderall off label. Anymore. But like, she could have a little extra Adderall, during exam season. As a study aid. That’s _responsible_ drug use. She has ADHD, she’s like, _allowed_ to use Adderall to focus. Charlie couldn’t get angry at _responsible_ drug use, he takes a handful of medication with dinner and breakfast.)

“Oh my God, you must be the new girl,” Jessica says. Her smile is blinding. “I’m Jessica, that’s Angela—”

Angela turns to look at Bella too, waves small and quick. She looks embarrassed, but not at anything in particular. Some people just look embarrassed at being associated with existence. Bella likes her, and the big glasses that make her face seem soft and small and perfect for cupping gently, immediately.

“—and you must be Isabella Swan, the sheriff’s daughter! You have like, a name out of a fairy tale, I _love_ it.”

It’s not the first time Bella’s heard that. It’s not an idea she encourages. If she’s going to be from a fairy tale, she’s going to be the dragon. “Call me Bella. Who were you talking about?”

And does he actually have a monster truck? Because dudes with monster trucks tend to have some really _fun_ drugs.

“There’s these new guys in town, and they’re like, only a few years older than us? Usually I like, wouldn’t even know, I mean who cares, right, it’s not like they’re going to the school. But they moved in _right across the street_ from me, and they are _wild_. I swear I’m not a stalker, I’m not like watching them with binoculars—”

Bella makes a mental note: Jessica owns binoculars and she absolutely watches the neighbors through them.

“—but they’re always at the corner store and I can’t just _ignore them_.”

“Okay,” Bella says. “But like what are their names?”

If she has the names, she can probably use Charlie’s office to look up any relevant information. Find out if they’re the kind of slightly older, independently wealthy, blazing hot boys she wants to bum beer and weed off of, or the kind she needs to avoid if she likes being alive. Find out if they actually have a monster truck. Find out their address, where they presumably keep the keys to their monster truck.

“And I go to like pick up some chocolate and a slushie one day and they’re just like, _right there,_ and they’re _glowing_ , and the one guy has long hair which totally isn’t my thing usually cuz like, uh, why would you, but it’s just so—”

“Ed and Al Elric,” Angelica says quietly.

“— _silky_ , you have not even begun to imagine beautiful hair until you see him. I have no idea what type of products he uses but I bet they’re from Italy and like, a thousand dollars an ounce—”

So Bella Swan isn’t the most interesting thing in Forks her first day. That’s fine. That’s whatever.

From the sounds of it, there’s a lot more to do in this town than she’d thought. She can cultivate a kingdom of admirers later.

***

Yesterday was sunny, and Edward Cullen had taken a sick day. Now it’s overcast, and there’s a new girl in the school.

It’s the first thing he knows, even before he finishes pulling into the parking lot. By the time he’s stepped out of his car, he’s seen the New Girl (Isabella Swan, _call me Bella)_ through the twisted remembrances of a hundred teenage boys. The girls aren’t thinking about her, but that’s only because they’re thinking about Edward and his golden, beautiful, dreamy eyes.

Ugh. He’s not a product to be _consumed_ relentlessly by the student body in their daydreams. Especially not when he has to _hear all of them._

He walks toward the building, ready to start another hellacious hell day in hell. He drove alone, in his Volvo C30. Edward wishes he could say he drives an eco-friendly car, that he minimizes his carbon footprint since as an immortal and extremely rich being he has so much longer and so much more devastating an impact than any singular human being. The truth is that he only knows the make and model because Rosalie told him, and he is cursed with perfect recall. She told him other things too, but Emmett had been thinking rather loudly about what he wanted to do with her that night, so Edward tries not to access those memories.

Maybe it is eco-friendly. Maybe his poisonous, toxic, volatile and violent stain of a soulless presence didn’t corrupt even the Earth’s earth. Maybe he should take up car pooling. With his...siblings.

Edward envisions that for a moment. As with every time he envisions it, it immediately kills the urge to become a global citizen.

Selfishness is so hard a vice to shake, and he’s shaken so few.

Mike — Edward knows his name, just as he knows every god forsaken name in this _god forsaken building —_ bumps into him on his way to class. Edward hadn’t been paying attention, and neither had Mike. Mike apologizes, still barely paying attention.

He’s thinking very hard about that new girl’s breasts. Based on four other boy’s doing the same, there might even be some glean of truth to his fantasy.

Edward supposes he’ll find out at some point today.

He’s always finding out.

It’s just another layer to the curse, another punishment for his intrinsic selfishness: if he cannot be made to care for others, then he _will_ be made to bear witness to the fact that they are alive and thinking feeling beings. He told Carlisle that while he was alive he had been good at reading other people, that he thought his transition had amplified that. This was true.

The meanings Carlisle assigned to it — that Edward cared, that Edward used his gift to help others and make them feel better —

Well.

Carlisle’s a good man.

It’s rather convenient, sometimes.

***

Biology. _Ugh._

Like, the thing is, Bella’s fucking done this unit. And she gives the teacher the reason of her being in AP Bio, because she doesn’t want to hurt his little teacher feelings right off the bat and because it’s true. She _was_ in AP Bio.

She also did this unit in 8th fucking grade, because she went to a _real school_ , with thousands of students and new textbooks every year and fucking _Bunsen burners._

Well, she hasn’t been in the Chemistry classroom yet. Maybe they have Bunsen burners. But that’s actually a terrible stupid road to go down, because if she’s bored in a room with fire, pretty soon there won’t be _any_ rooms for her to be bored out of her goddamn skull in.

It feels like there’s insects under every inch of her skin. She’s flipped open to the right section of her book and why did she even bother to be _early._ Her deskmate isn’t even here yet, and she’d thought she could come early and ingratiate herself but — _nooooo_. The room is steadily filling up, Angela waving on her way to, shit, not Bella’s table, and there’s still no sign of her deskmate.

Why didn’t she just duck into the woods and smoke a bit before class? They have to travel to all their classes outdoors, it’s surrounded by thick forest, it’s practically daring her.

Because she doesn’t have a weed supplier yet.

Right.

Which is also why her skin is going to march off her body any moment now and give that biology teacher something _real_ to study in this stupid class for once.

Her deskmate comes in with three minutes to spare. She knows it’s him because it’s now the only open seat. He’s not bad looking, though before he’s over the threshold she already knows that he’s like the leader of the Young Republicans club. It’s not anything he’s wearing, really. It’s just like. They give off this vibe. This way of being. Bella knows to put up her shield a little stronger around them, the same way she would around someone who’d been through police or military training or who unironically talks about his super feminist ~~porn~~ art house indie film collection. It’s not a stance or a tone or a clothing choice or a viewable trait, but sometimes? She just has this knack. It’s a survival trait, and Bella’s gotten very good at survival.

Then he sits next to her, and his face freezes in this awkward mask of fear and _loathing,_ and Bella realizes his eyes are just. BLOWN black.

She takes it all back. This guy is high out of his _mind_ right now. He is doped out of his _skull._ He’s looking at her like she’s his worst nightmare and also like he wants some Taco Bell and can divine burritos in the pale flesh of her neck. She doesn’t care if this kid owns a tracksuit with Pepe the Frog printed on it, he’s her new best friend until she finds out who his dealer is.

(Bella’s a survivor. She’s very good at it.)

But… she sniffs discreetly at her own shirt, trying to hide the way she’s trying to smell him. No weed stank. No one’s that good at hiding it, so it must be something harder. Or edibles? She can’t ask now though - Sheriff's daughter, she’ll have to build up _trust._

She decides to build up trust by smiling at him very prettily, just like, all her canines, all her gums, the prettiest smile she knows, the one that only sometimes makes people run away, and when he stares back at her with undisguised revulsion she whispers, “Ask me about aliens.”

He does not ask her about aliens, but she can tell by his barely controlled rage that he’ll be back for more. That’s a trap no little weed boy could resist.

***

Every morning, Roy drives past a Smokey the Bear sign.

Every morning, it says LOW, and something deep in his stomach relaxes. Just a little.

He doesn’t have to drive past this sign every day. He could just look it up on his laptop, turn on the news, ask Karen from the PTA-and-Roy book club.

(He mostly joined the PTA-and-now-Roy Book Club so he has an excuse to drive past this sign twice on Tuesdays.)

Today, he definitely doesn’t have to drive past it. But it’s a Saturday, and Debbie’s kids have chickenpox, and Liz’s kids are training for whatever a Fortnite career is, and Janice won’t stop trying to hook him up with her gay exes. Kaightley, Rachel, Lynn, and Lizzie? Thought that Gone Girl was ruining the sanctity of marriage.

He starts the long, swooping curve in the road that will carry him past the sign. Forks has a lot of swooping roads, long turns sustained with only the tilt of a wrist. He’d grown up in Nevada, and there the roads had stretched endless and barren into the desert, or frantic and packed through the city. Driving in Washington is leisurely, like starring in the tropical vacation edition of Ice Road Truckers.

And it’s in that long, swooping, leisurely curve, right when he tilts his head to see Smokey the Bear and his friendly green LOW!, that out of the corner of his eye he sees _teeth._

Roy slams on the brakes, but the tendons in his wrist stiffen with the shock, and the car spins. As it spins, he sees:

\- teeth, spread in a dog’s grin as big as a horse’s fucking mouth, and Roy’s always been a city boy, maybe he’s wrong, maybe horses aren’t that big, surely _nothing is that big,_

\- fur, shaggy and auburn and well groomed,

\- wise, intelligent, _fuck_ _off massiv_ e brown eyes set in the _fuck off massiv_ e skull of what Roy can only assume is a prehistoric wolf,

\- an uncomfortably large set of balls, and he can’t believe the last thing he’s ever going to think is, _it’s just like Havoc’s FurAffinity,_

and then his face slams into the steering wheel.


	2. Hit and Run (Boy, Run)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Seth!” Jacob hisses into his phone. He’s crouched just behind the tree line, entirely nude and sticking his head out every once in a while to look at the crashed car. Well, it hadn’t like, crashed _into_ anything. It had swerved to a stop in the middle of the road, the guy had _definitely_ hit his head, and then its _engine started smoking._ “Pick the fuck up! I think I just ki-kissed a man!”
> 
> He remembers at the last second he should not leave a voicemail saying he killed a man. 
> 
> “CALL ME BACK RIGHT NOW,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh fucking big thanks to Chad (silentwalrus) as ever for the beta and enthusiasm about this Niche Funnies AU. (can you spot the bits that are theirs??) thanks also to meat for showing up and being enthusiastic when i recapped the entirety of new moon to her.

_Heeeeyyyooo it’s ya boi, SETH the BETHT. If this is about the Minecraft server STOP CALLING. I’m not installing any more mods for you ungrateful shits! That doesn’t include you, Emily. You’re an angel. We all love you._

_Beep._

“Seth!” Jacob hisses into his phone. He’s crouched just behind the tree line, entirely nude and sticking his head out every once in a while to look at the crashed car. Well, it hadn’t like, crashed _into_ anything. It had swerved to a stop in the middle of the road, the guy had _definitely_ hit his head, and then its _engine started smoking._ “Pick the fuck up! I think I just ki-kissed a man!”

He remembers at the last second he should not leave a voicemail saying he killed a man.

“CALL ME BACK RIGHT NOW,” he says, and then hangs up and starts texting him the same thing on every app he can. His hands are sweaty and awkward from the recent transformation. _Semen I kipped a mandrake. Set u Jule someone. Calk met back right noew._

His phone doesn’t manage to get through the opening notes of She-wolf by Shakira before he’s answered.

“Jacob! You _promised_ that if you were going to experiment with—”

“I _think I killed someone,”_ Jacob says, wiping frantically at his eyes.

***

Something is _dinging_.

Roy would like the dinging to stop. Roy would like to get away from the dinging. Roy has a headache worse than enlistment weekend, worse than shore leave back in 2017, worse than any headache anyone has ever had _ever_ and something is _dinging._

He tries to throw himself away from the noise. He’s caught by a seatbelt, so he slaps it until it releases him, face first into the window. After a few moments of crying into the glass, _ding ding ding ding ding,_ he manages to get the door open and spills himself out into the road.

Roy hits hands first. Then elbows. Then the top of his head, then a long slow drag down his torso as gravity grinds him against the asphalt.

“Owww,” he whines.

***

“They can’t pin this on you,” Seth says, supportively.

“MY DAD’S BOYFRIEND IS GOING TO ARREST ME AND THEY’RE GOING TO BREAK UP AND IT’LL BE MY FAULT,” Jacob wails.

“Mr Swan wouldn’t arrest you! He’s just the right amount of corrupt!”

Jacob hears movement, darts another glance around the tree. The guy driving is face first on the road, halfway out of the car. His pants are kind of falling off a little, and his shirt is scrunched up around his shoulders. He’s saying stuff like _ow, fuck me, shit, goddamn, my fucking head._

“Holy shit he’s alive,” Jacob says.

“Oh thank God, Mr Swan is _lawful good,_ he would totally arrest you,” Seth says.

***

“911, what’s your emergency?” Sandra asks. It better not fucking be Mr Waters calling about ‘the hooligans from the reservation’ again. She will throw a brick through his window herself as soon as she gets off shift. She will _show_ him hooligans if he doesn’t stop taking out his sour grapes on Billy’s kid.

“I k—there’s a car crash, out on Readhille Trailhead road,” a voice says in a bad Texan accent. Sandra frowns.

“Is anyone injured?” Sandra’s already got her finger ready to send an ambulance.

“Just uh, just the driver,” the voice says. It clicks, then— this _is_ Billy’s kid, or one of his friends. The ones who are always coming down with fish fry for Charlie and nagging him about his cholesterol. “And the car is smoking? He’s by the Smokey the Bear sign.”

“Alright, it’s important you don’t move him. Help is on the way,” Sandra says. The relieved sob-laugh finally jogs her memory as to a name— that’s the same noise he’d made when she’d found him with a cigarette and hadn’t immediately arrested him. “It’s going to be okay, Jacob.”

“Jacob? Who’s that?” Jacob asks, doubling down on the Texan voice. “My, my name is Yeehaw Cowboy and I’m from Nashville and I have five sisters and I’m dating my first cousin, YEEHAW GOODBYE MISS SANDRA!”

And then he hangs up, secret identity intact.

***

 **sethlord** _Today at 2:14 pm_

did she buy it

jacob

jacob are u going to jail

jake i need you to let me know if ur going to jail cuz leah has dibs on ur skeleton farm

jake

jake

did u kiss a man yet

**blackfang** _Today at 2:16 pm_

NO I’M TOO STUPID TO LIVE

TELL LEAH TO STOP LYING I PROMISED IT TO PAUL IN MY WILL

**sethlord** _Today at 2:17 pm_

wheres ur will

**blackfang** _Today at 2:17 pm_

I can’t tell u that she’ll change it I have a timed email

**sethlord** _Today at 2:18 pm_

oh smart

hey wait dont die

jake

jake you cant be too dumb to die

jake your house has the best wifi

jAKE GET BACK HERE

***

Roy had told them that he did not want to go to the ER. They had said ‘that’s understandable, but we need two witnesses to sign for you being in your right mind’, and Roy had said ‘wanna be my witness’ and they had said ‘no sir, you have a very bad concussion, you need an MRI’ and he had said ‘it’s a mild confucius at worst’ and now he is in the ER.

He’s texting the PTA-and-Roy Book Club chat, but they’re being extraordinarily unsympathetic when the letters aren’t moving too much for him to read.

**Debbie White**

Roy I cannot stand you. How dare you. How dare you.

**Janice Hotchkiss**

UGHHHH HOW COULD YOU GET INJURED WHEN I’M STUCK AT HOME AND CAN’T VISIT YOU!! YOU SELFISH SON OF A BITCH

**Roy Mustang**

Is this about carlsilse

**Debbie White**

You keep his name out of your mouth until you spell every syllable as beautifully as his mother did, Roy Mustang.

**Janice Hotchkiss**

MY ELDEST SON MAINS GRIMBLES IF I CAN LEARN TO SPELL THAT YOU CAN LEARN TO SPELL THE NAME OF THE MOST GODLY PIECE OF ASS IN FORKS, ROY

**Debbie White**

Please stop shouting Janice, it's giving me a headache.

**Roy Mustang**

I hope I dyke of a cerebaral hepporahge and you all feel really bad about this

**Janice Hotchkiss**

God I bet if you have a cerebral hemorrhage he’ll hold your hand when he breaks the news. You ungrateful slut.

**Lynn Schieffer**

Oh my god roy are you okay???

**Roy Mustang**

Birb

There’s someone at the door. Or— something. Roy can’t be sure, but it feels like the one time that he’d been persuaded to go to Burning Man and he’d set the giant creepy wicker man alight an entire day early and from fifty feet away. This— isn’t the same, there’s no punishing desert heat and his headache is from blunt force trauma instead of Jaegerbomb pregaming and dehydration olympics, but. The feeling. He grabs at the fire inside of him, tells it to _stay still_ , stop _burning,_ go out _go out go out._

It works about as well as it always does.

“How we doing?” says a polite, extremely white, blond man in his early thirties. He has the smile of someone who has paid for five thousand dollars in Invisalign and the eyes of someone who has killed and dismembered fifteen women.

“Fine,” Roy says, checking the name tag. It’s blurry from across the room, but he’s pretty sure this is Carlisle Cullen.

He’d been so certain that this was a Bruce situation. He’d been expecting a portly middle aged man with a receding hairline and an expensive watch. Maybe a lot of hair on the knuckles, Kaightley seems like the kind of woman who likes a lot of hair on the knuckles. But no. No, this is a full on _I have no survival instincts, isn’t Dexter kinda cute though,_ Mad Mikkelson’s Hannibal Lecter bullshit marathon. This man has worn his carefully not-too-expensive-for-work khakis so well that every woman over 25 in the tri-county area has lost her mind. This man has hosted a neighborhood barbeque and served them all a missing teenager and they stood in a huddle and giggled about his ‘technique’ and cargo shorts.

“I hear you had a little car trouble,” Dr Carlisle Cullen asks, smiling. He has very pink lips. Roy pinches his thigh, refusing to get drawn in.

“Fine,” Roy repeats. His lips shine in the fluorescent lights, the exact same shade as Riza’s special occasion cotton candy lip gloss. It’s practically Pavlovian at this point. He wants to lick them clean.

Dr Cullen’s sleeve bursts into flames.

Roy, eyes wide, stupidly concussed, reaches over and slaps at it to put it out.

Dr Cullen’s _pants_ burst into flames.

“Excuse me,” he says in a strained voice, and then drops to the floor and rolls around vigorously. His foot catches on a tray of instruments, and sends it crashing to the floor. The nurse who had overseen Roy’s intake runs in, and Roy can practically hear her thinking back to his chart— PTSD, veteran, confused about time and place.

“AHH!” she screams, when she sees that her coworker is _on fire_ and unsuccessfully trying to douse it. She starts stomping on him helpfully. Once she gets all the fire out on his back, Dr Cullen rolls over to his front, which is smoldering cheerfully below his belt buckle.

“Sorry!” she cries frantically as she chases the last of the flame over his crotch. The rubber soles of her shoes finally do the trick, and she takes several shaky steps back, hands clasped over her mouth.

“Thank you,” Dr Cullen says smoothly, rising to his feet. He does not look like someone who just spontaneously combusted and then had his testicles crushed. He barely even looks ruffled. “I think I will go take my break to recover from my near death experience. Get Richards to cover this one, will you Amy?”

And then he glides out of the room, lab coat billowing just enough to provide a glimpse of an amazing, soot-and-footprint-covered ass.

Amy stares at Roy. Roy stares at Amy.

“He’s really hot,” Roy says, because it’s true and he has no answers for her.

Amy stares at Roy. Roy stares at Amy.

“I’ve been told I have a fiery and infectious personality?” he tries.

There’s some more staring.

“I will be _right back_ with Dr Richards,” Amy says, and leaves the room.

***

Forks is a town of like, two to four thousand people. Somewhere in there. And they count people living _way_ outside of what Bella or anyone reasonable would consider ‘town limits’.

What she’s getting at is that it’s 7 o’clock, Charlie had asked her to make dinner, and she’s finding out that _nowhere delivers enchiladas._

She stares at the phone in her hand blankly, trying to reconcile this new and terrifying world. How much does she love her mom? Does it really matter if Phil picks up a second family on the away season because Renee can’t come with him? Is it too late to move back?

Her phone dings. It’s been doing that a lot today. Her Facebook app has been going _crazy_ as everyone in the high school and their mothers send friend requests. But this time it’s Messenger, and it’s an actual like, message, not a request to message, so she clicks on it. The little icon isn’t very illuminating— it’s one of those like, Neopets werewolves or whatever. Guaras? Lupes? Fuck, it’s been forever.

**Jacob Black**

Hey

It takes a minute, but then memories filter in. Her hands are shaking a bit when she answers— nerves, hunger, anticipation, all of the above.

**Bella Swan**

Holy shit!!

Your Majesty *sweeping bow* it has been many moons since I last travelled these lands.

**Jacob Black**

Rise, Knight Errant

*adjusts crown and crosses arms*

What brings you to my home after you indecorous descent from grace? Have you no shame?

*your

**Bella Swan**

Shame is a luxury only the rich can afford, your majesty

*cloak billows in the wind*

Where might I find rations in these parts? Or must I turn to Digiorno for aid?

**Jacob Black**

HAHAHA

Sorry big city wench no one does delivery around here

The roads are dark and the routes treacherous

But if you brave your way back to town center and take two lefts there’s a Little Caesars

**Bella Swan**

I can’t believe you’d say that to me

**Jacob Black**

What

Still sore about the Roman centurion plot line

**Bella Swan**

YOU GODMODDED AND YOU KNOW IT

**Jacob Black**

I’ll meet you there

Are you eating with Charlie

I’ll get you and me a pizza and he can have salad

He’ll hate it it’ll be hilarious

**Bella Swan**

LMAO are u guys still replacing his mayo with low fat

The stuff in the fridge is disgusting

**Jacob Black**

Ranch too

I’ll bring you the good stuff

**Bella Swan**

Deal

See u in 10

***

“EDWARD!” Alice screams as she dives in through his bedroom window. As if Edward can’t already hear her screaming in her head.

“Don’t try to stop me,” he says. As soon as he’d gotten home he’d thrown himself into the stream, inhaled and exhaled water until he couldn’t smell that— that _girl_ anymore. Now he’s in his room, throwing clothes into a duffle bag. The Denali coven will keep him safe for a while, even if they’ll want certain unsavory favors in return.

“Listen,” she says, and she darts out with a hand, grasps him around the wrist. He can hear her visions, but they’re a chaotic jumble. They don’t make any sense. She thinks, _exactly_. “Something big is going to happen. I know you can control yourself, you can’t run away just because you don’t _feel like it._ ”

Edward jerks his wrist out of her hand. It snaps her pinky finger off, and she snarls at him. _Petty piece of selfish shit,_ she thinks, licking the base of the snapped off piece then sticking it onto the stump and holding it there. It will take at least thirty seconds to reattach properly.

“We’re weaker without you,” she says through gritted teeth. She’s just realized she held it at slightly the wrong angle, and she has to snap it off and do it again. “And something is coming. Something I can’t— I can’t see.”

That stalls Edward. Alice can see humans and vampires. The list of things that are neither are… short. Alarming.

His gift isn’t something he thinks of as a gift. Usually it falls more in line with a curse. His head filled with useless information, with a thousand fantasies and feelings not his own. The only reason he deigns to attend high school over and over is that teen’s thoughts are repetitive to the point he can block them out. An endless cascading white noise soundtrack of _horny my friends hate me am I pregnant I’m never gonna survive this year can’t let them see no one can know I want sex I want sex I want sex FUCKING POP QUIZ._

And then today, the endless cascade of _Ed and his beautiful golden eyes his beautiful smooth skin his beautiful hair his beautiful beautiful I want sex I want sex I want sex FUCKING POP QUIZ._

“Oh no,” he says. “Alice, can you see Bella?”

“That girl? Yes, she’s not it.” Alice hisses as she snaps her finger off, licks the base, and then reapplies it more carefully.

“But I can’t hear her thoughts.” Edward is trying to delay the inevitable epiphany, but he’s had it and he can’t _un_ -have it. Let the problem be Bella Swan. Let the problem be her and he doesn’t have to tell Alice what he thinks he knows.

“So she’s a wee bit magic, it happens with humans sometimes,” Alice says. A flash of a vision just as Edward decides to tell her—

_Edward groans, slams his head through the desk/kicks a hole in the wall/throws a Coldplay CD case that shatters into a thousand brilliant fragments, says, “It’s fucking Ed and Al/I heard them at school today thinking about Ed and his golden eyes I thought they meant/THE ELRICS ARE HERE WE’RE FUCKED/Ed is going to kill me this time, stop laughing.”_

“Ed and Al are here?” Alice breathes. And then louder, clapping with delight. It’s a bit too soon; her finger falls off again. “ED AND AL ARE HERE!”

Emmett crashes his head through Edward’s closed door.

“MY BOYS?” Emmet roars.

“OUR BOYS!” Alice shrieks. She’s looking for her finger, spots it under the entertainment stand and wriggles underneath it to grab it. She emerges, covered in dust. “OUR BOOOOYS!”

Edward slowly sits down on the end of his bed, head in hands. He could stand for eternity without getting tired, but sometimes tired is a spiritual sensation.

Outside, Edward can hear Rosalie and Jasper giving simultaneous groans of horror. Rosalie’s in the garage underneath one of her cars judging by the distance and metallic echo. Jasper’s running through combat exercises in a patch of lawn hidden from the driveway.

 _“They’re fucking assholes,”_ Rosalie mutters.

 _“Impossible to defend against,”_ Jasper sighs.

“Edward, stop moping,” Alice says. “If they’re what’s messing with my visions you definitely _can’t_ leave. You know once Ed catches your scent he’ll just chase you down. Wouldn’t you rather have me and Emmett here to distract him?”

“Stop making good points,” Edward says into his hands. “And what about—”

“You won’t kill her,” Alice says confidently. He can see the truth in her mind, the crystal clarity of it. There’s an equal crystal clear premonition that if he tries, he’ll end up dead. So he won't try. Obviously.

Edward flops onto his back, arms spread wide on the mattress. He stares up at his ceiling, wishing for not the first time that he’d gotten around to installing that mirror. No one’s looking at him, so he can’t be sure his pout is coming off as ‘furious and dejected’ rather than ‘sullen and insolent’.

Emmet pulls his head out of the door and pulls the door open. “Who’s our little murder boy want to kill now?”

“I am _not your little murder boy,”_ Edward snarls, darting to his feet. He tries to get Emmet around the waist and throw him out the window, but Emmet just traps him in a headlock.

“Aww, who’s a feral widdle murder boy,” he croons, noogie-ing Edward viciously. Rosalie is cackling in the garage.

 _“I have the highest kill count,”_ Jasper grumbles.

“You’ll always be _my_ little murder boy, sweetheart,” Alice says. She makes a little kiss sound.

“Stop it, Emmet!” Edward says, struggling futilely. He does not want to have to reattach his head. It’s the only reasonable way he can break this hold. “Lemme go!”

Their phones all ping. Carlisle’s text tone. Unusual. Rosalie gets to hers first, but just says, “ _huh.”_

“Carlisle got set on fire at work by a magic human,” Alice says. Another ding. “...and Esme got set on fire a little too when she passed the guy in the hospital lobby. Hm.”

“Wasn’t this town supposed to be _boring?”_ Edward asks the universe, despairingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter planned keywords: gas station burritos, a mortal enemy, and an immortal one >:3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella meets Jacob for the first time in years. Madame Christmas receives her first phonecall from Roy in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I had a full chapter length worth of fic sitting in docs and I just hadn't noticed because I was so focused on getting out all the plot points i wanted to hit. shout out to commenter who made me realize "oh wait. I actually...can just post it!" and as always shout out to Chad (silentwalrus) for adding some invaluable phrasing, grammar help, and general beta cheerlead things.

Jacob is taller than she’d remembered.

And like, yeah. Duh. Of course he’s taller than she’d remembered. Last time she’d seen Jacob, they’d been thirteen and puberty had hit him like an oil slick to the face. Puberty had treated Bella much better, by avoiding her entirely so she could get a few more inches in. At seventeen and 5”11, Bella appreciates that. Every single time she towers over a rat faced little punk, she sends a tearful and grateful prayer to the mother goddess who controls when you start gushing blood and pimples and boobs.

But Jacob is fucking _tall._

“Holy shit man,” she says, eyeing him. She has to tilt her head up a little. 

She is not accustomed to tilting her head up.

“You like?” he says, spreading his hands in a flourish, doing a little twirl. The wind catches in the legs of his basketball shorts, billowing them into little tents around his thighs. His shoulder length ponytail whips through the air, and her eyes track it, tracks the way a strand of it sticks to his teeth when he finishes the rotation and grins at her.

Bella.

Bella, to her absolute fucking horror, realizes she _does_ like.

This cannot stand. She has made this boy eat bugs for nothing more than her own vain amusement. She has force fed him dirt until he apologized for calling her a narcissistic tyrant and promised to be loyal to her _benevolent_ and _dignified_ rule for the rest of her life. She has wept bitter tears of despair when he unseated her in a coup, banishing her from the lands of Forks, Washington (conveniently wrapping up the plotline just in time for her to stop visiting every summer). She has laid on the damp, cool floor of his garage during a brutal heat wave, picking at each other’s sunburn and then daring the other to eat the crispy bits of peeled skin.

“I’m a lesbian,” she blurts out.

Jacob tilts his head, no doubt taking in Bella’s snapback, her three layers of loose tank tops with the long sleeved shirt underneath, the rubber bracelets that crawl up her arms nearly to the elbow, her baggy jean cut offs that hit her knees, the hightopped neon yellow and green velcro sneakers.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he says, and then heads for the door of the Little Caesars.

Shit. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. 

Like, and the thing is. It’s not like Bella’s _not_ a lesbian. It’s not like she hasn’t thought really _hard_ about what attraction means. She’s thought really hard about how it intersects with willingness to give a lackluster handjob at a house party because she’s kinda drunk and Zack from AP Bio smells _good_. Sometimes a girl like, just needs to huff gingerbread cookies while drunk at her ex-best friend’s new-boyfriend’s houseparty. And if the scent-source offers up his dick as a free stim toy, then like— whatever, that’s a bonus, right? At least then she isn’t thinking about Jacquelin, Jacquelin in the upstairs bedroom on her knees, Jacquelin with the shiny red hair and the mean red smile and the sharp red nails and the best taste in bad sci-fi.

But she’s feeling some kind of way about Jake’s massive shoulders underneath his t-shirt as he holds the door open for her, and the phrase _I’m a lesbian_ leaves sour cowardice on her tongue.

She walks through the door, brooding broodingly. Why didn’t she punch him? She used to just _punch_ him.

“Hey, Jake!” says a blonde girl behind the counter. She smiles, blindingly, does something fuck-y with her hair. Bella hates her immediately, tries to get a good look at her name tag.

“Hey, Kristin,” Jake says absently, staring up at the menu.

“Christine,” Christine says flatly, dropping her hand and crossing her arms under her chest. It makes her boobs like… wow. Like. Wow.

Maybe Bella _is_ a lesbian. She definitely doesn’t hate Christine anymore.

“What’s ready?” Bella asks. She leans her hip against the counter, hooks her thumbs into her pockets. 

Christine turns around, checks. “We have three hot and readys, a deep dish 4 meat supreme, crazy bread, wings, and a cheesy bread.”

“Oh,” Jake says, finally focusing in on Christine. He takes a few steps forward, joins Bella at the counter. It’s...intense. Christine flushes, and Bella leans back a little. His body heat is like _woah._ Does he have like, mono? Or something?

It was totally the responsible thing to do to lie about her sexuality in a fit of panic, if he has mono.

“Uh, can we have… crazy bread, the deep dish, and a cheesy bread?” he asks. Then he looks at Bella. “What do you want?”

Bella raises her eyebrows. “Okay, well, I’m going to stab you if you don’t let me have some of _all_ of that, you bottomless pit. What kinda wings are ready?”

“BBQ and Buffalo,” Christine says, long sufferingly.

“Cool, one of each, please,” Bella says. She glances at the cooler. “Uh- do you guys sell those like, horrible little salads?”

“Antipasto?” Christine asks, looking deeply pained.

“Yeah!” Bella says.

“Yes,” Christine says.

“Cool, one of those, please. And like uh, three two liters.” she digs around in her pocket, pulls out Charlie’s credit card and slaps it on the counter. 

It hits at the same time as Jacob’s hand does.

He is… he’s also got a credit card.

It _also_ reads Charlie Swan.

They exchange looks, and Bella slowly pulls hers back and puts it away, heads for the cooler.

Christine rings up the order, not blinking an eye. Jake must have dinner with Charlie like, a _lot._ Bella knows their families have always been close— and there was that thing with Mr Black last year, wasn’t there? Some kind of accident, she’d seen so many posts on Jake’s facebook that she was actually worried the guy had _died_. But he hadn’t, and then she hadn’t remembered to message him and find out what happened, if they were all okay, because of fucking _Jacqueline._ She wonders how often Jake must be over, how often he must be in Charlie’s life that he warrants a free use credit card. Charlie probably treats him like the son he never had, in addition to the daughter he also coincidentally did not have for a few years there. 

She’s not jealous, or anything. Just. Wrong footed. Off balance. She should _know_ this kind of thing, right? Like… she knows _everything_ about Jake and Charlie. 

Or she used to.

Bella snatches three bottles of Mountain Dew and a plastic salad container out. The bottles condense up immediately, leave big wet spots where she’s hugging them against her chest. The cooler door slams shut awkwardly.

“Thanks, Christine,” Jake says with another brilliant smile, and walks away with the whole stack of food before he can even notice how smitten she looks.

Smitten looks a lot like her pushing her boobs up with her forearms again. Bella allows herself a long look. Just. Really settling into this lesbian thing, since she’s nothing if not committed to an offhand panicked lie.

“Bells?” Jake asks. He’s propping the door open with one foot, and smirking at her. 

Christine is _glaring_ at her. It’s a jealous glare, so it’s probably because Jacob is smirking all — all _knowing_ and intimate at her, calling her a pet name and letting all the air conditioning out. Bella rushes through the door as quickly as she can without dropping anything, an awkward sort of waddle as the bottles bump against her ribs.

At least Jake buys the lesbian thing. She thinks it would like, hurt her hand to punch him now, and that’s the only other option. He’s built like a brick shithouse. A sexy, smiley, nice, good smelling brick shithouse.

***

Chris slaps at her phone, trying to make it shut up. Through bleary eyes she can see that it’s 2 pm, and through the haze of sleep she can remember going to bed at _noon_.

She brings the screen to her face, trying to get it in that perfect zone between ‘too close’ and ‘too far’. Where are her fucking glasses. 

Finally she just gives up and answers it, cutting off the dulcet default tones of a recorder playing La Cucaracha. 

“What the fuck?” she growls into it. 

“AUNT CHRIS,” her stupid, useless piece of shit nephew wails. She’s instantly awake, dizzy with the adrenaline as she jolts upright. “In _1862_ a man named Carlisle Cullen was named Mayor of _Bloodgulch_ in what is now known as Arizona—” 

She stumbles to her feet. She’s fully nude, and normally she might pretend to care about that, but she hasn’t heard from Roy since he got back stateside. She didn’t even hear from him _then_ , just saw him in a “what has America come to…veterans returning home all alone…I bought him coffee and sat with him while he waited for his Uber, what a brave young man” ego jerk of an Instagram post. He had looked tired. 

Too tired to _call the woman who raised him._

“—at the time, he didn’t have any other companions. But his _wife_ is equally flammable—”

“She’s _what?!”_ Chris demands.

“—and I assume his children are _too—”_

“ROY!” Chris roars. He doesn’t seem to hear her. She stumbles toward the living room, smacking into a few doors on the way. And then all the walls of the hallway. 

“—and they’re not _human_ , they’re not _human,_ I _googled_ them, Forks was supposed to be a calm restful place for my weary, war torn soul, I was supposed to get rained on every single day, and it didn’t even rain today Chris! I am _concussed_ and I saw a _wolf’s ballsack—_ ”

Chris slams open the door to the living room. 

Four pairs of golden eyes stare back at her. Most of them even at her face, darlings that they are.

“You hear all that?” she asks, shaking the cell phone at them. Four synchronized nods. It’s as creepy as it always is. 

“—Washington doesn’t have wolves! Forks doesn’t even have a strip club, how can it have massive fucking _wolves!”_ Roy finally pauses for breath, which means he’s started crying so hysterically he can no longer speak.

“Roy,” she says firmly. Roy hyperventilates. “Roy!”

“Whuh,” he finally manages. He’s choking on his own snot. She can hear it. Kids never do really grow up, do they?

“Get something to eat,” she says. 

“You can’t know when I’ve eaten,” he says damply. “Maybe I’m eating right now.”

Four eye rolls, and her gently banging her forehead against the doorframe.

“Eat something!” she repeats, because ninety percent of raising children is identical to training Yorkies. And then, because he really does do better with direction, “And don’t you _dare_ buy gas station taquitos and a milkshake, I will _know._ ”

“Fuck you, you’re not my _mom,”_ her stupid, useless piece of shit nephew says. And then he hangs up. 

“Well, he’ll be at a gas station in Forks, Washington, buying taquitos and a milkshake,” she says to the four vampires in her living room. “Sic ‘im.”

Then she pinballs her body back down the hallway, off the doorways, and back into her bed.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh hi again! so i don't have anything like a posting schedule for this, and you should expect inconsistent but mostly long (*long*) waits. 
> 
> this AU started with me losing my mind several months ago about a twilight/fmab fusion. huge shout out to silentwalrus and mellomailbox for brainstorming so much of this initially with me, and to everyone who acted as betas or cheerleaders! 
> 
> find ang3lba3 on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cryingiscooltm)


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